


Count Your Blessings (Instead of Sheep)

by Exaggerated_Specificity



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies) RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Awkwardness, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Homelessness, Intimacy, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, New Year's Resolutions, No Sex, No Smut, Pouting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/pseuds/Exaggerated_Specificity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris's pity party leads to helping out a stranger in need.</p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <img/><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Count Your Blessings (Instead of Sheep)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollylux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/gifts).



> Prompt: Burnt Dinner

Chris’s phone buzzes on the granite countertop while he’s rubbing butter, salt, and pepper into the skin of the turkey, just like his mom had shown him. He peeks over at the preview with a soft smile, holding his greasy hands up like a doctor prepping for surgery. The text is from his sister Shanna. “ _Merry Christmas, Chris! Wish you were here! Love from all of us._ ” Attached is a picture of Chris’s whole family on the deck of their cruise ship, smiling happily at him from under the Caribbean sun, with a gorgeous expanse of turquoise blue water fading out into the distance behind them. He grins at their happy faces, warmed at the fact that they’re thinking of him, but there’s a bittersweet ache in his chest wishing he was there too.

He turns the handle for the hot water with his elbow, his pathetic little sigh masked by the running water. It’s his own fault that he couldn’t make it on the family vacation this year, just a result of bad timing with his new job. Thankfully, his mother had handed down some of her cooking skills to Chris over the years and she supplied all the recipes he needed to make the holiday taste like the ones he was so nostalgic for. He washes his hands and pops the roasting pan holding his ten pound organic, free-range turkey into the preheated oven before retreating into the living room to sulk to Bing Crosby.

The whiskey he spiked his spiced cider with makes his belly warm and he puts his socked feet up on the table in front of the crackling fire. Soon the house would be full of savory holiday smells and he’d reply to his sister with a photo of the spread he’d spent all afternoon preparing. For now, Chris was content to watch the colored lights on his tree twinkle as the snow fell softly outside.

~~~

The loud buzzing of the fire alarm wakes Chris up from his tipsy slumber. He’s on his feet like a shot, feeling more than a little disoriented in the smoky, multi-colored twilight bathing his living room. His heart is pounding as he skids into the kitchen, flinging open the oven. A huge plume of smoke billows out, burning his eyes and stinging his lungs. He coughs as he fumbles for the oven mitts, finally pulling the turkey out. He bangs the pan down on the counter, tugging off the mitts and using them to fan away some of the residual smoke. The skin of the breast and legs is charred and the bottom of the pan is crusted with scorched drippings. A complete and utter failure.

“Fucking fantastic,” he grumbles as he switches the oven off and grabs the step stool so he can reach up to shut off the blaring alarm. “So much for Christmas dinner.”

There are still pans of stuffing, candied sweet potatoes, and fresh made dinner rolls waiting in the fridge but his holiday spirits have gone up in smoke like the blackened bird still steaming on his counter top. He should have known better than to attempt to recreate his mom’s fabulous Christmas spread.

His stomach grumbles as he shuts the oven off and surveys the damage. He needs to eat and right now escaping his failure seems like the best idea in the world. If he’s lucky there will be a Chinese place still open. A haze of smoke is still lingering in the foyer as Chris pulls on his winter boots and hooded parka. He flips on the fan in the living room and opens the kitchen window a few inches, hoping most of the fumes will have cleared out by the time he gets back.

~~~

It’s bitterly cold and the roads are slick, slushy, and piling up with snow as he makes his way into town. There aren’t many others out tempting the weather. He feels like a childish idiot at how close he was to breaking down into tears over his stupid culinary mistake. He feels even worse when he passes a homeless man bundled up at the corner of the next intersection holding up a sign that says “ANYTHING HELPS.”

“Get your shit together, Evans,” he scolds himself. “There’s folks who’ve got it a helluva lot worse than you this year.” He stops at the light and reaches for his wallet, thumbing it open clumsily. Figures, no cash. He looks out solemnly at the man and gives him an apologetic shrug even though Chris is pretty sure he can’t see it through the snow and ice building up on his truck windows.

Chris tries both strip malls off the main drag but the only lights in the shop fronts are holiday decorations. Nothing is open. It’s too late. Everyone is home with their families enjoying their holiday. He keeps looking for another fifteen minutes, swallowing back the burn of self-pity that keeps threatening to make him weep. Unable to find even a McDonald’s still open, Chris points the truck back toward home. He’d polish off the rest of the Jameson and go to bed, hopefully waking up in a better mood.

The snow is getting worse as Chris reaches the intersection where he saw the homeless man earlier and, sure enough, the guy is still there. From this angle Chris can see that he’s sitting on a milk crate, huddled up under a thick, hooded military jacket and draped in a ratty grey blanket that is completely matted with heavy, wet snow. The light turns green but Chris can’t move. He can’t stop looking at the silhouette of the poor lost soul who wasn’t likely to find any kindness tonight. Chris flips on his hazards and pulls up to the curb. He leans over and pops open his passenger door, shouting out into the snowy night.

“Hey, man! Come on, get in! I got food, a place for you to stay.”

The man turns his head but the little pale slip of his face is unreadable to Chris through the sideways-falling snow. He just stares at Chris, not speaking or making any attempt to get up.

“Please?! You can’t stay out here like this. You’ll freeze to death.” Chris throws the truck into park and pulls his hood up before climbing out.

The man is standing up and shedding his snowy blanket by the time Chris makes it to the sidewalk, pulling his bag up over his shoulder. He’s much younger than Chris had imagined with piercing blue eyes and a strong jaw under a layer of dark, scraggly stubble. Long locks of greasy brown hair frame either side of his gaunt face, peeking out from under several layers of hoods.

“Thank you,” he puffs shakily, his breath spilling out in a cloud.

“Least I could do,” Chris offers as he helps him climb up into the passenger seat.

This wasn’t like Chris. Not that he wasn’t a generous guy but he wasn’t the kind to pick up stray dogs or hitchhikers, or strike up conversations with panhandlers. It just seems like the right thing to do and he hopes his whim won’t end up being yet another regret to add to this mess of a Christmas.

He hops back in the driver’s seat and starts rambling as he buckles in. “I, uh, made Christmas dinner tonight – just for me – but I burnt it. That’s why I was out here, trying to find something else to eat. Now that I think about it though, it’s probably way more edible than I’m giving myself credit for. Anyway, there’s a fire, I have beer and a full fridge, and you’re welcome to the guest room for the night.”

Chris looks over at the man and sees the look of bewilderment on his freezing cold face. He can appreciate it being a lot to process.

“If you want, I mean. Oh, uh, sorry. My name’s Chris.” He reaches out his gloved hand.

“Sebastian,” he replies, clasping their gloved hands together and giving Chris a grateful smile. “Thank you, I – I can’t thank you enough.” His teeth are still chattering, his whole body trembling from the cold.

“No need,” Chris says as he cranks up the heater and pulls back out into the intersection. The truck fishtails a little in the thick blanket of snow that has built up on the road.

“If it keeps up like this it’s gonna take a few days to dig out,” Chris comments, squinting up through the ice-caked windshield into the snowy night sky.

~~~

There’s at least four inches of snow blanketing Chris’s driveway by the time they make it back. He parks against the curb and they hike up the sloping lawn to get out of the storm, kicking the snow off their boots under the relative protection of his covered porch. Chris unlocks the front door and pushes it open wide, gesturing for Sebastian to lead the way into the house.

“Please, make yourself at home.” Chris crinkles up his nose at the smell of charred turkey skin still lingering in the air as he peels off his coat and gloves and hangs them on the rack behind the door. “Sorry about the smell. Like I said, I burnt that turkey pretty good.”

Sebastian gives Chris a half smile, still looking overwhelmed. His eyes are downcast and he chews self-consciously at his pink lips, his heavy army green duffle still slung over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry!” Chris says cheerily. “There’s still plenty of other stuff to eat. It’ll just take me a bit to heat it all up. Uh, feel free to take off your boots and coat and I’ll go get the food started. Later we can get your stuff in the wash and you can take a shower if you want to. Okay?”

Chris knows he’s rambling like a nervous, over eager idiot so he excuses himself to the kitchen, leaving Sebastian to thaw out in the foyer. He turns up the heat on the thermostat on the way into the kitchen to salvage what he can of his Christmas feast.

“Chris?” Sebastian says softly, peeking into the kitchen a few minutes later. “Is… Um, is there anything I can do? To help I mean?” He’s stripped down to a ragged burgundy Henley that has several other shirts layered underneath it, an over-sized pair of black sweatpants that hang precariously from his narrow waist, and a sad, stained pair of holey gym socks. Sebastian wraps his arms around himself like he can feel Chris’s gaze on him, his head tipping down as guilt and self-consciousness twist his expression.

Chris wants to tell him no, tell him to make himself comfortable and relax, but he knows it’s unrealistic to expect from his guest. Chris gets the feeling that Sebastian would bolt like a frightened rabbit if it wasn’t ten degrees outside so, if it helped Sebastian to feel useful, Chris would happily put him to work.

“Yeah, that would be great, thanks. Can you get the two casserole dishes out of the fridge for me and take the foil off them while I get the green beans started?”

Sebastian gives Chris a little nod and shuffles over to the big stainless steel refrigerator. Chris goes back to snapping the ends off the beans and smiles to himself. This was infinitely better than spending the night alone, wallowing in self-pity. He only wishes it hadn’t taken such a silly set of circumstances for him to reach out and help someone in need.

The stuffing and sweet potatoes find their way into the oven with the green bean casserole and Chris salvages what he can of the burnt bird.

“It might be a little dry but hopefully it still tastes alright.” Chris grins up at Sebastian where he’s sitting on one of the bar stools on the other side of the counter. After he dumps the bunt scraps and bones into the sink to take care of later, Chris grabs a couple of winter ales out of the fridge and opens them, offering one to Sebastian.

“Thanks for keeping me company tonight. It’s kind of an important time of year for me and it hasn’t been going the way I wanted so far.” He tips the neck of his beer out to clink with Sebastian’s and they both take a sip of the spiced brew. Sebastian’s still quiet and hesitant but he seems to be warming up slowly, giving Chris an awkward but grateful smile.

“I know this is weird, man,” Chris offers. “I’m sorry, I just… I guess I didn’t realize how lonely I was until I wasn’t alone anymore. I’m really grateful you’re here.”

“Please don’t be sorry,” Sebastian says quickly. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s been this kind to me and – just… thank you so much. Sorry I’m so… Anyway, thanks.” Sebastian’s voice cracks and he averts his eyes again, taking a long pull off his beer as he tries to hold back the tears wetting his bright blue eyes.

Chris reaches out, clasping his big, warm hand over Sebastian’s bony shoulder and dipping his own head down to try and meet his eyes. “Hey, you don’t have to apologize and you don’t have to thank me. You’re here because I want you to be, okay?”

~~~

They migrate into the living room where Chris throws a few more logs on the fire. They eat at the coffee table in front of the fire with the twinkling glow of the Christmas tree to light the room. It feels just about as festive as Chris can imagine under the circumstances. The turkey’s pretty dry but the side dishes are almost as good as his mom’s and they both fill their bellies and polish off two beers each. Chris keeps the mood light talking about his nephews and work, not pressing Sebastian to do anything but enjoy his meal.

“I uh, I haven’t been like this – homeless I mean – for very long. It’s my first winter at it, that’s for sure. I had a car still, all summer, but…” His words trail off and he takes another bite of stuffing instead of elaborating. Whatever had happened in Sebastian’s life was clearly still fresh. He swallowed down the pain with another swig of his beer.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, I promise. If you just want to forget about all that tonight, you can. I’m here to listen, regardless.”

Sebastian doesn’t broach the subject again and after the fire has burnt down to embers Chris gets up and leads Sebastian to the master bathroom attached to Chris’s bedroom.

“This is obviously my bathroom so I apologize, it’s not exactly the cleanest part of my house. Figured it was just the easiest. There’s a guest bathroom down the hall but all my stuff’s in here so help yourself to a shave, a shower, whatever you need. Mi casa es su casa.” Chris turns to go back in the bedroom, rolling his eyes at himself. Really? Frickin’ meatball. He keeps expecting things to stop being awkward but he can’t seem to stop stumbling over his words like he’s on a really odd first date.

He goes to the dresser to get Sebastian some sleep clothes, smiling to himself as he hears Sebastian start the water and spray some shaving cream into his hand. He grabs Sebastian a pair of thick white socks, black boxer briefs, some cozy grey fleece sleep pants, a plain white crew neck t-shirt, and a navy blue pullover hoodie with Chris’s gym logo on it. Comfy, warm stuff to lounge in. They could wash Sebastian’s own clothes in the morning and Chris could even give him some things to supplement his wardrobe.

“Here are some clothes,” Chris says loudly enough for Sebastian to hear him over the running water. “Oh, and there are fresh towels hanging behind the door. Listen, if you want me to find something else for you to wear, just say the word –”

The thought evaporates as he looks back up at Sebastian. He’s peeled out of his layers, shaved off his scruff, and is standing gorgeously baby faced and bare chested in Chris’s bedroom, gently patting at face and neck with Chris’s hand towel.

“Wow, uh – sorry,” Chris peels his eyes away and laughs nervously as he runs his hand over his beard. “Super rude of me. Let me give you some privacy.”

He keeps his eyes on the floor as he turns away and heads toward the door. His heart is racing as he shuts it behind him and leans back against it to pull himself together. He thinks of a hundred different things to say through the closed door but every single one sounds lame or insane. He slinks back to the living room as he hears the shower start, tucking himself into the spot on the couch near the fire where he’d fallen asleep earlier. He hopes the completely inappropriate arousal and embarrassment he’s feeling have faded by the time Sebastian comes back.

~~~

Sebastian emerges from Chris’s room just over an hour later, warm and soft and clean, his long hair slicked back and tied into a little knot at the base of his neck. Chris’s clothes are sort of hanging off him but he’s grinning tenderly at Chris when he sits down on the couch, a safe distance away. His hands are tucked up into the sleeves of Chris’s hoodie and he folds his legs underneath him, pivoting a little to face Chris who is focusing on the fire instead of ogling the gorgeous boy next to him.

“Hey,” Chris manages, glancing over at Sebastian with a soft smile. He doesn’t trust himself to say more.

“Hey,” Sebastian says back, trying to meet Chris’s hesitant eyes. “Thank you. I know I keep saying it but I don’t really know how else to put into words how grateful I am, Chris.” He extends his hand like maybe he’s going to reach out and touch Chris, squeeze his hand or his arm, but he must sense the tension and pulls it away, slipping it into the pocket of his hoodie instead.

“Do you want another beer? I have some whiskey too…” God, what was he thinking, this wasn’t a date. Christ.

“No, I’m okay. I’m perfect, actually. This is…” He takes a deep breath, leaning his head against the back of the couch cushion, his eyes still lingering on Chris in the low light. “This is really nice.”

Chris smiles sheepishly, wishing they had more between them than the awkward series of _thank you's_ and _I'm sorry's_ they both keep stumbling over.

“I’m sorry you can’t be with your family tonight, like you wanted,” Sebastian offers.

“No, man. It’s fine,” Chris sighs with a smile. “I’m too damn old to be acting like such a child about it honestly. While you were in the shower I decided my New Year’s resolution is to stop taking things for granted, be more grateful for what I have. I’m glad it happened this way, honestly, otherwise you might still be out there in the cold.”

“Me too, believe me,” Sebastian says, widening his eyes and cracking a grin. His smile is downright beautiful. It lets the mask of that brooding, devastatingly handsome, introvert fall away to show the happy, outgoing guy that might be waiting underneath. “Those are good resolutions, it’s amazing how quickly things can change sometimes…”

“You can stay here as long as you need to,” Chris says earnestly, turning to face Sebastian a little and making eye contact so he knows the offer is sincere.

“God, Chris. That’s incredibly generous but you don’t know me. What if I was a drug addict or a thief or –”

“Well, are you?” Chris interjects, smiling and raising an eyebrow. He trusts his instincts. “Look, it’s not that I don’t have the space, right? Maybe part of not taking what I have for granted is helping someone who deserves it.”

“I can’t ask you to do that…” Sebastian looks down into his lap, worrying at his lip a little. “It means a lot to me though. I can’t even tell you...”

Chris’s heart aches for Sebastian. He wants to reach out to him, pull him close and kiss away the tear that slips down his cheek. He wants to know his story, understand how someone who seems so bright and fragile ended up in such a harsh and unforgiving situation. Chris is paralyzed by his thoughts, though, and by the time he collects himself enough to consider how to comfort Sebastian, he sees the young man’s walls closing up in self-defense.

“It’s pretty late. Let’s get some sleep. There’s already fresh sheets on the guest bed.”

Sebastian forces a smile and swallows thickly as he looks over at Chris. He nods and wipes at his cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“We can talk more in the morning, if you want. No pressure.”

Chris gets Sebastian settled and retreats to his own room. The quiet there is almost deafening as Chris stares up at his ceiling. He focuses on his breathing, on the feel of the mattress under him, even says a little prayer of thanks into the dark and finally finds enough peace to drift off to sleep.

~~~

“Chris?”

Just a hoarse, breathy whisper in the dark. The heavy embrace of sleep makes it sound like a foreign word, being spoken a million miles away.

“Chris, are you awake?”

Chris grunts a little and rolls away from the door, sliding back into sleep again.

A few moments or a few hours later, no telling which, Chris feels the weight of someone on the bed next to him, and a rush of early morning chill slipping between the sheets as Sebastian slides into bed behind him.

 _Sebastian_.

Chris makes another little noise in his throat, his head shifting on the pillow as he breathes deep. Sebastian smells familiar, like Chris’s body wash, the subtle sandalwood of his own shampoo, but it’s warmer, richer on the boy who just climbed under the covers beside him. Chris’s still mostly unconscious but he hums happily as he turns, eyes fluttering open to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice thick with sleep. Without waiting or an answer he reaches for Sebastian like it’s the most normal thing in the world, like it’s something they’ve done a hundred other mornings. His hands sink into the plush fabric of his hoodie, grasping sleepily at the thin frame underneath. Sebastian’s entire body is vibrating, shivering, just like it had been when Chris helped him into his truck the night before.

“I’m just… cold. So, cold. M’ sorry, I hope it’s okay, I just… I – can’t ever seem to get warm.” His words are a breathy, panicked whisper, his words as fragile as the frost forming on the inside of Chris’s windows. He seems to shake even harder as Chris tries to get his arms around him.

“Shhh,” Chris soothes, his breath sleep-sour as he wraps his arms around Sebastian and pulls him right up against his chest. “Come ‘ere. It’s okay.” Chris’s eyes slip closed as he slots their bodies together, his hand sliding through Sebastian’s long, whisper soft hair. He cups the back of Sebastian’s skull and coaxes his head to tuck up under Chris’s chin. Sebastian goes willingly as Chris gathers him up, he’s slight under the soft sag of Chris’s over-sized clothes. Chris keeps his hands moving, rubbing warmth into the chilled planes of his back, arms, and thighs.

After a few minutes the warmth of Chris’s body finally seems to seep into Sebastian enough to still his chattering jaw and calm his trembling muscles. Everything is so quiet and still around them, their breaths quiet and warm, syncing up and slowing down as they both drift off to sleep.

~~~

They wake up to a bright grey sky, the snow still falling, and their limbs still intertwined. They don’t say much, a gentle good morning is all that’s needed. Sebastian gets up to use the bathroom. When he gets back Chris stays to warm him up again before getting up and taking his own turn. He piles an extra blanket on top of Sebastian when he finally gets up to take a shower.

The bed is empty when he gets out. He finds Sebastian at the kitchen counter, slicing oranges.

“I didn’t know where the coffee was so I thought I’d make orange juice?” He offers, looking precious and sleep-rumpled in Chris’s too-big hoodie.

“Sure,” Chris beams, sitting down at the counter.

Chris feels a little like he’s inside a dream, the kind you’re sorry you didn’t pay more attention to when you inevitably wake up. He just watches Sebastian, trying to soak in every detail, trying to remember the last time he felt this calm, safe, and happy.

“It snowed a lot. Like two feet, maybe?” Sebastian says, his smile a little bashful now under Chris’s gaze.

“So I guess that means you’ll stay?”

Sebastian nods, sliding a glass of juice over to Chris.

“Sorry I didn’t say it yesterday but Merry Christmas, Sebastian.”


End file.
